


Memory Jog

by Vizkopa



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/pseuds/Vizkopa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh my, is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Jog

“BARTOLOMEO!”

His green head whipped around at the sound of his name echoing through the halls of the Colosseum. He scowled at the feminine form rapidly approaching him.

“The fuck do you want?” he sneered. 

You grasped him by the collar and growled, pushing him into a nearby alcove so the two of you were hidden from view. “I’ve been searching for you across the entire Grand Line. What makes you think you could do that to me and get away with it?” you snarled, your face only inches from his.

His brows furrowed and he wrenched himself from your grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled. “I don’t even know you.”

“Have you forgotten me already, ‘Meo? I’m hurt.”

“Tch, you’re crazy,” he growled and went to push past you, but you stopped him.

“Oh you have no idea,” you purred, pressing him up against the wall, your hands just itching to close themselves around his throat. You felt something poke you.

“Oh my, is that a knife in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You smirked up at him, reaching down to grasp the hilt. “Oh, it _is_ a knife. I’m not sure if I should be disappointed…” You twisted until the cool, sharp edge rested lightly against his skin. “Or overjoyed. One wrong move, Chicken Boy…”

Bartolomeo paled.

“O-oi! What are you doing? I told you I don’t-”

“Still don’t remember, huh?” You grimaced. “Tch, guess I’ll have to give you a little reminder.”

With your free hand you reached up to entangle your fingers tightly in the hair at his nape, tugging him downward until his face was level with yours. His yelp was cut off by your lips on his, rough and angry. He froze and you pulled back, panting slightly.

“Remember me now, Chicken Boy?” you growled, fingers still clenched tightly in his hair.

He said nothing, staring at you in bewilderment. You searched for that hint of recognition in his eyes, but it never came. You let go of him abruptly, stepping back and letting the knife clatter to the ground.

“You’re not worth my time,” you said before turning to leave. But as you went to take your first step in the opposite direction, you were suddenly met with resistance – a strange barrier had appeared before you. You tested it with your hand. It was as solid as glass, smooth and think and almost invisible to the eye. You were trapped.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

You whirled around and met the wild eyes and shark-like grin of Bartolomeo the Cannibal. You felt your heart beast faster – from excitement or fear, you could not tell.

He smirked and tapped his forehead. “I think it’s starting to come back to me. But I’m gonna need a little more than just a kiss.”

This time it was his turn to press you up against the barrier, his arms caging you. Not that you could escape even if you wanted to. His barrier had completely enclosed the two of you in the tiny alcove. 

You gazed up at him with a playful smile. “Let’s see if we can jog your memory.”

Before you had even finished your sentence he had you pinned against the barrier, hands exploring every inch of you he could possibly reach. His mouth was at your neck, tongue tracing the pattern of your veins beneath your skin, sending shudders through your body. He bit down harshly at the supple skin and you cried out, gripping his hair tight enough to hurt.

“Fuck,” you growled. 

He chuckled, lapping at the mark he had just made with his wicked tongue. His hands trailed down your sides, pinching and squeezing, until they reached your thighs. He lifted you higher, pinning you with his hips and allowing his growing bulge to grind against you. You held back a moan, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. You retaliated by rocking your hips into his and you heard his breath catch in his throat.

You felt his fingers creep up your thighs and under your skirt, toying with the hem of your panties. He gave you a cheeky smile and before you could protest there was a tearing sound, and the garment fluttered to the ground in tatters. You groaned inwardly at the loss, but soon forgot all about it as his fingers found their mark.

Despite your best efforts to keep your voice suppressed, you let out a shaky moan, clutching at his shoulders as you bucked into his hand. Soon he had you writhing under his teasing fingers, your body slick with sweat and your cheeks and chest flushed dark with colour. You could feel something building inside you, but just as you were about to reach its peak, the feeling left you.

You heard the faint jingling of a belt buckle and the feeling soon returned, this time fuller and a sharper sting of pleasure. You looked up at him and smirked.

“You got a piercing,” you panted, and he grinned, thrusting roughly upward. You threw your head back and let out another moan as he adopted a steady pace - deep and fast and _hard_. You had not realised how much you had missed it.

You felt yourself once again building toward that peak, and from his groans and grunts, you knew Bartolomeo was too. You felt the barrier at you back shudder and give way slightly.

“’Meo…” you managed to gasp, but he ignored you, his eyes glazed over with lust.

One last thrust sent him over the edge and you with him, and suddenly you were tumbling backwards. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs as he collapsed on top of you.

“Fuckhead,” you growled, wincing in pain.

“It’s good to see you too, [Name],” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, _now_ you remember me,” you said, rolling your eyes.

He laughed. “I never forgot. How could I?”

You stared at him for a moment. “What do you…?” Realisation dawned on your face and you flushed crimson with rage. He only laughed harder.

“You’re hot when your angry,” he said with a shrug. “Plus the sex is better. Are you mad at me, [Name]?” His eyes flashed with mischief.

“Yes,” you said, pouting.

He grinned widely and flipped you over until you straddled his waist.

“Good,” he said, smirking. “I could go another round.”


End file.
